The Tuesday Committee
The letter arrived on a Tuesday, which was fitting, because Tuesday was the only day Nell had left.
She had traded the others away one at a time — Monday for a bus fare, Thursday for a stranger’s cough she could not otherwise have survived, Sunday for a jar of plum jam she still had not opened. The Committee took what you offered and asked no questions, which had seemed generous at the time.
Now the envelope on the mat was addressed in her own handwriting.
Nell read it twice. Outside, the street was holding its breath: no post van, no gulls, no bell in the church tower. Just Tuesday, thin as paper, waiting to see whether she would sign.


